


Indiscretion

by Sidonie



Series: The King's Squire [21]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zahir is lovers with the Crown Prince of Tortall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> As I wrote more and more Jon/Zahir for SMACKDOWN, I started to run out of ideas. And then it struck me how much I loved the idea of Zahir/Roald. These four ficlets are the result. More than anything in the King's Squire series, they stand alone (see "Proposal" for an explanation of all that). They begin steamy and light-hearted, and become angsty by the end. Hopefully I'll write more for this pairing in the future, because I have come to adore them, and for SMACKDOWN I had to include Jon, so he's sort of shoehorned in.

Zahir pushed his lover roughly against a wall, reveling in the surprise and helpless lust flashing through those wide blue eyes. He caught strong, pale hands in his dark ones, pinning them to the smooth stone, a fierce grin spreading across his face as he overpowered the opponent who was also a partner.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled.

“No,” came the gasped response. “Mithros, _never_.”

Leaning forward, Zahir kissed him, all aggression and ferocity and passion. He felt the weakening, the surrender as his lover gave way before him, and it exhilarated him.

Somewhere nearby, a door slammed.

“Zahir? Have you finished that—” Entering the room, King Jonathan stopped dead, shocked into silence.

The men broke apart, each executing a short bow.

Jon cleared his throat. “Roald?”

The prince, already blushing fiercely, turned an even deeper shade of red. “Father.”

“I—you know, I'm not—I won't ask.” Still wearing an expression of mortification and disbelief, the king turned away. “Zahir, we will need to talk. _Soon_.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”


	2. Mortification

As the door closed, Zahir turned back toward Roald, taking in the prince's mortified blush. “Well, that was interesting,” he commented, dry as ever.

Roald cringed. “I can't believe my father just walked in on us. I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

The Bazhir let his stare drift over his lover, a wry smile curling his lips. “You know, you are rather adorable when embarrassed.”

“Please, let's not, I don't think I can deal with this right now. My _father_ knows! I think that's more important at the moment.”

“Oh, really?” Zahir edged closer, one arm wrapping around the prince's waist. “Because I think nothing is more important than ravishing you until you forget all about Jon's opinion on the subject.”

Roald flushed a deeper shade of red. “B—but he's your knight-master! Don't you care about that? I—” He broke off as the other squire captured his mouth in a fierce kiss and melted in Zahir's embrace, his cares vanishing like dew on a summer's day.

When the other boy pulled back, he was grinning. “I do care about what Jon thinks. As you so astutely pointed out, he is my knight-master. And my king, and my Voice, and my friend. But you—” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the corner of Roald's lips, “—you are more important than any of that.” He paused, his smile turning wicked. “That being said, I'll certainly continue to tease you about it, because that blush is honestly your most attractive look.”

Before Roald had time to protest, they were lost in each other again. He could only pray his father had the good sense not to return. Surely he cared enough for Zahir to grant him that.


	3. Realization

It would never do, of course.

There were obstacles in the way, large ones. Heirs were a question of no little significance. And the crown prince had to marry for political advantage. A foreign royal would be best, and talks with the Yamanis had been ongoing for almost as long as Jon had been king.

All the same, sitting at this table, in this moment, the monarch watched his oldest son with a small smile. Roald, usually so reserved, was struggling to bite back a broad, effusive smile. He colored as the boy next to him leaned closer, whispering in his ear, and Jon tried not to imagine what was being said.

He had attempted to steer clear of complications, to guide Zahir to an easy path. No matter what his detractors thought of his reasons for choosing the Bazhir, he had come to care for his squire as his own child, and an entanglement in an impossible relationship could only cause him pain. Jon sighed internally, recognizing the conclusion he had come to.

For now, they were both happy, but it would have to end.


	4. Destruction

Jon faced his squire, taking in the quiet fire in his dark eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw. “Zahir, this can't go on,” he said gently. “I know you love Roald, and I'm glad of it, but you know it can't be.”

The boy didn't answer, but a quiver in his lips betrayed his reaction. He blinked rapidly, looking up at the ceiling. In his restraint, Jon saw real grief, and it broke his heart.

“Do you understand me?”

Zahir nodded, face pale and drawn. He still refused to look at his knight-master. His teeth were clenched, a slight tremor tugging at his carefully blank expression. Jon knew, just looking at him, that he could pull the right thread and watch the boy unravel. Just a few words, an affirmation: “you're doing the right thing,” “be brave,” or worst of all, “Roald loves you too, if that helps.”

In the end, Jon decided against saying anything. He wasn't sure he could bear Zahir's tears.


End file.
